


The White Cat

by Cor_Rodia



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Retellings, Girls Kissing, Lesbian Character of Color, No Lesbians Die, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Talking Animals, animal death (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cor_Rodia/pseuds/Cor_Rodia
Summary: To win her inheritance and the family business, Missy enlists R&D genius Chise for a series of technological challenges. The girls work well together, and it looks like they have a chance--but the favor Chise wants in return may be more than Missy can handle.A modernized fairy tale retelling with romance, lots of cats, and horrible parents.





	1. "Um."

When an intelligent man asks for the impossible, you know you're being had.

At least, that's how Missy felt. She dropped into the unforgiving chair outside her father's office, head in her hands. Her brothers were right on her heels, and no sooner had the secretary closed the glass door closed behind them than they started bickering. "Well _that_ was a meeting." "I can't believe he won't let me consult anymore." "You already have an unfair advantage." None of them feared that their father might exit his office and overhear. It sometimes seemed as if he never left. They continued dissecting their father's challenge over her bent head.

"What's his angle, do you think?" Monty asked. "Who does he want to win?"

"This isn't about who wins," Missy said. The boys looked at her, clear on their faces that they'd forgotten all about her.

Mitch gave her a slow nod. He patted her shoulder and turned away. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I've got work to do. See you." He strode off down the hall. Monty sneered at his back before taking off in the other direction, cell phone in hand, already calling in favors. Matt watched them disappear around their respective corners.

"You really think that?" he whispered. "That he's trying to force you out?"

"Not just me, obviously. It's so like him to cut us off if we can't measure up. But I was supposed to start part-time in the coding department _next week_. I guess this is his way of making sure I can't have His Money if I'm not going to follow His Plan." She let her head smack against the wall. "There's no good reason for him to say the losers can't work for the company."

Matt smiled shakily. "Hey, you know him. He's probably been planning this since from the cradle. Don't take it personally."

"Who has the least chance of winning these challenges, Matty?" He didn't answer. "If he was going to do this, what's stopping him from waiting five years? I might be in a place to compete by then."

He smothered a laugh. "Your poetry MFA's gonna give you a leg-up? Sorry, sis, but this isn't about timing. You just don't have friends in the right places. I mean, you don't even really want to win, do you?"

She didn't. But she didn't want to lose, either.

***

And so Missy found herself bumping down a road—more like a glorified trail—through the Sierra Nevadas, searching for a miracle. Her brothers had taken their father's instructions and scurried back to their own kind: grad students with the gleaming eyes and social graces of lab rats, professors who could hardly walk under the weight of their own prestige. Missy had her skills, but her brothers had inherited more of their father's ambitions, and they had the peer groups to prove it. Missy's peer group did slam poetry and coded iPhone apps. She needed a serious edge. With any luck, that edge was hidden somewhere on the dusty path.

Hana Matsuko was an unsung hero of the digital age. In the cherished tradition of women in STEM, she was conveniently forgotten when it came time to roll out the accolades. Her genius was legendary in the same sense as Bigfoot: rarely seen and sparsely believed. Missy only knew about her because Matsuko used to write articles for an obscure science magazine she read as a child. It was meant for college students, but that didn't stop her father from buying subscriptions for each of his children throughout elementary school.

Missy had written Matsuko a letter years ago, and the response had been... memorable. Matsuko skimmed over Missy's precocious anxieties about misogyny and racism in the sciences in favor of writing several paragraphs about her cats. Still, she had written back, and Missy felt a sort of kinship with her notorious hermitry. She'd followed Matsuko's career as much as she could, but at some point she had faded, unmissed, into the ether of technological legacy. So she should have plenty of time to go chasing pipe dreams.

Missy didn't have much to offer, unless they won her father's challenge. That would have to be incentive enough; after all, with the family empire at her fingertips, she could give Matsuko all the resources a scientific mind could wish for. And Missy wouldn't have a clue what to do with it anyway.

As she dropped into a dry red valley, a stone wall sprang up, hemming the road. A worn marker by the gate said this was number thirty-three. Missy parked outside and peered through the gate, but after a few hundred feet of brown grass and dirt, a copse of trees blocked the view. Missy opened the door into the thick, dusty heat. Her thighs stung as she un-suckered them from the driver's seat. She stared up at the iron spikes which crowned the gate, stark against the pale sky. An old-fashioned intercom was laid into the stone pillar to her left. Missy pressed the button. And pressed it again. And began to wonder if it was broken.

Static crackled over the speaker, followed by a voice far too young to be Matsuko's. "Can I help you? Press the button to talk."

Missy held the button and then stood there, trying desperately not to start her sentence with "um." Somehow being out in the road pressing a button was weirder than using a phone. "Does Hana Matsuko live here?" she asked at last, almost forgetting to take her finger off the intercom.

"No."

"Oh." Missy realized she had not been pressing the button. "Oh. Um." Damn it. "Um, do you have any idea where I could find her?"

Static-fuzzy silence swallowed the line. After a minute, the voice said, "Harefield Cemetery, a few miles up the road."

Missy felt like a huntsman had piled her gut full of stones. "Oh." She blinked, her eyes desert-dry and heavy, the way they always got before tearing up. Was she crying for a lost role model, or was it more selfish than that? It wasn't until a chest-heaving sob shook her arm that she realized the line was still open. She yanked her hand back and swiped the tears off her face, as if the intercom could see her.

"Are you all right?" the voice asked. It—she—sounded almost incredulous, as if no one ever cried at the news of someone's passing. Not that Missy had known Matsuko. She could only guess how long ago the woman had died.

"Yeah," she said into the intercom. She cursed her shaking voice. "I mean, I'm surprised, and... well, I was hoping she could help me. It doesn't matter. Thank you for your time."

Missy turned away, but the static didn't stop. "Maybe I can help?"

Missy returned sheepishly to her post by the gate. "Um, thanks for the offer, but it's about a... large technological venture. I was hoping to rely on her expertise."

"I'm very familiar with her work," the voice said. "I don't do collaborations normally, but if you like you can email me about your situation and I'll see what I can do."

Missy ground the last of her tears away with the heel of her hand, sniffling loudly. "That's nice of you, but it's not that kind of—it's too complicated for that, and truth be told, I'm hopelessly out of my depth."

There was almost a chuckle in the voice. "Now you have me intrigued. What is this all about?"

Missy sighed and tugged at the hem of her sweat-tacky skirt. Anything to put off getting back in the car for a few more minutes. "I'm Henry Amal's daughter. Amal Technologies? He has this whole empire, and he wants one of us kids to take it over so he can retire. He gave us this ridiculous R&D challenge, and frankly I don't know if I have any business taking part. But the rest of us, the three who don't win, we get nothing. I have to at least fight for it, you know? Otherwise I'm going to be paying off student loans for the rest of my natural life." Missy snatched her finger back, cry-flushed cheeks warming again.

The static crackled, dim through the hum of blood in her ears. The voice said, "Are you allergic to cats?"

"Uh, no?"

"Good." There was a beep and the clack of a latch. The gate drifted open in a puff of dust. "Why don't you come in for a chat?" 


	2. "I knew she liked cats, but this seems a little excessive."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bargain is struck, and it rains.

Missy didn't know what she expected, but this wasn't it. Breaking through the line of trees, she found a spindly red Addams Family house, peeling to gray. Cats scattered every which way as she drove up. A bulbous pickup sat on the lawn, blocking most of a caretaker's cottage off in the back. Missy thought about parking beside it, but even an ill-kept lawn should not be driven on without permission. She rolled to a stop in front of the porch and leaned out the window, craning her neck to see the spiky widow's walk atop the third story. The air hung stiff and warm around her like a freshly ironed shirt. The steps creaked under her; cats shot out from beneath the porch and disappeared in the gray grass.

Before she had time to worry about whether to knock, the door swung open. She peered into the dark front hall. "Hello?"

"This way, please." The voice sounded warmer and younger in person, but there was no sign of its owner. It led Missy toward an open door, nothing but darkness beyond. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience," the voice said from inside. "I'm afraid I'm unusually sensitive to light. There's a chair to your right."

Missy edged closer until her hand hit an armchair, the upholstery thoroughly shredded. She sat, bag in her lap so she wouldn't lose it to the darkness. The dim light from the hall gave a vague impression of a corner of a desk and a chair on the other side, its high back turned toward her. "So, Miss Amal," her unseen host said, "tell me about this challenge."

Missy explained the rules their father had set out for them. They would be given three tasks meant to demonstrate their abilities. They could use any resources available to them, as long as they weren't provided by the company. The first challenge involved creating a device that was, in her father's words, "impressive," as well as marketable. "I'm not really sure what he's looking for. I have a few ideas," she said as she dug in her bag for the notebook she'd been scribbling in. "But I don't know if they're even plausible, especially in this time frame. I was hoping Miss Matsuko would give me some direction." And help her build the blasted thing.

"Hm," the voice purred. "Why did you think of Hana? She had been out of the game for a while."

That wouldn't have mattered. According to everyone else, Missy had never been in the game to begin with. "This is going to sound silly, but when I was a kid, she replied to a letter I wrote her. I'm sure she wouldn't have remembered, but I've always been a fan of her work—and I knew a little about the medical tech she worked on for WireFree, so I thought..." A soft body swept around Missy's ankle. She jumped. A cat glared up at her, its eyes glowing in the dark. Missy pulled her heart rate down and sighed. "Um, how did you know her, if you don't mind my asking?"

There was a pause. "That's right," the voice said. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Chise."

"Mississippi," she said. "But most everybody calls me Missy." She wondered how Chise felt about not being able to put a face to her name. Missy wasn't too keen on it.

"Missy." It sounded gentle and wispy, so unlike the plunky, ironic way most people said it, or the childish ting her mother had used when she called her Missy-Saheeb. "To answer your question, Hana was a relative. We worked together a little toward the end of her life. She... left me this house and much of her estate in her will." Chise paused, a hitch in her voice. "Asked me to look after the cats."

"I knew she liked cats, but this seems a little excessive."

"Hm. Every genius has their quirks, they say. But as for your challenge, Missy, I'd be happy to do some brainstorming with you. If you'd like to leave your notes with me, I'll check through Hana's documents and see if any of her research will fit your purpose."

"Oh, that would be great." Missy slid her notebook onto the desk, straining for a glimpse of the other woman's face. "If I win, I can reimburse you, however you like—even if I don't win I'll figure something out—"

"Slow down," Chise said. "I'm happy to help, but there's only one favor I want in return. We can discuss it once the challenge is completed. I promise it won't cost you a thing."

"Okay," Missy said. "Should we... have a contract or something?"

"No, better not," Chise said. She had a distracted thoughtfulness to her tone, as if her mind were spinning off on the thoughts of the challenge and the favor it would grant her. She seemed to come back to the present as she said, "Do you have some place to stay while we work?"

"Oh." Missy glanced down at her knees, ears burning. "No, I guess I just drove out here without thinking. I'd better see if I can find something."

Chise laughed. "I'm not sure what kind of accommodations you'll find this far from Reno. You're welcome to use a guest room."

Missy stood, smoothing creases out of her skirt. "I don't want to put you out." She may not have had many options for tech help, but there had to be somewhere else to sleep besides the creepy cat house. "You're already doing so much. Thank you." Chise said nothing. Missy went to the door, swiping a hand across her damp neck.

"By the way, Missy."

She paused in the doorway and looked into the dark room. She could no longer see even the back of the chair—the sun had gone down, and no light from the dim hallway found its way into the office. "Yes?"

"If you run into Grant, our grounds-keeper, just tell him you have permission to use the lab. He'll leave you alone. He never comes in the house."

"Why not?"

The chair creaked as if Chise had stood up, but Missy could see no hint of her, not even a shape in the darkness. "He thinks it's haunted."

***

Missy fumbled out to her car, scaring the cats off its warm hood. She sat inside, letting the engine idle and the sweet, sweet air conditioner run, as she looked for hotels on her phone. It was a small list, with so many reasons to strike options off it: too far away, more for a weekend than she had in her entire bank account, Yelp reviews mentioning all manner of vermin. She finally whittled it down to a tiny motel that didn't even have a website. She brought up the number and called. It went to voicemail, where an elderly voice told her to leave a message in a rather berating tone. She hung up, started driving, and called again a few minutes later, putting the phone on speaker so she had two hands to deal with the thin, lumpy ribbon of a road.

"Golden Valley Inn, how can I help you," recited the same voice, sounding like he'd as soon shoot her as help her.

"Do you have any vacancies?" Missy asked as she squeezed her little car down the path.

"Yep."

"How much a night?"

"Depends."

Missy sighed and rubbed her eyes, heavy and itchy from crying, dust, and being on the road too long. "Never mind, we can figure it out when I get there."

The man on the other end made a throaty sound as if he was preparing to spit. "You shouldn't be driving and on your phone at the same time." He didn't say _dang kids these days_ , but it was implied.

"I'm not-- You-- You are so right, sir. See you soon." Missy hung up again and focused on the road. She was getting out of the mountains now, and it seemed like smooth sailing ahead, even though this road had not seen the attentions of a paver in quite some time. And then it began to rain.

It poured down, beating through the dust and streaming down ruts in the road. Missy kept on. As the GPS read out her next instruction, the soothing voice hitched. She glanced over at it, gritting her teeth as the map flickered. "Don't you dare." The voice did not reply. The screen went white. Missy cursed under her breath. The car crawled; the windshield wipers beat relentlessly at the driving rain. Eventually, the map blinked back into place, complete with her car and the little highlighted pink path. "Behave yourself," Missy threatened the machine. She drove on.

The motel looked less than promising. Only one of its neon letters worked, a glowing red V winking through the rain. The small parking lot seemed unnecessarily full. Missy held her purse over her head and ran for the door, which stuck, and stood in the shabby entrance like a drowned rat. As long as there weren't any other rats, drowned or otherwise, on the premises, she would take it.

The man at the counter squinted at her. "You're all wet."

"I could use a towel, yes," Missy said, shaking water off her purse.

"Towels are for guests."

Missy trudged up to the desk and promptly began to drip on it. "But I'm going to get a room. You were just on the phone with me."

The man sniffed and yanked a handful of tissues from a box, wiping up the rain. "Sorry, no vacancies."

"What? You told me there were! That was only like twenty minutes ago!"

He grimaced at her. "We filled up. No one wants to be driving in this rain."

"You're sure you don't have anything?"

"You think I keep an extra room in my back pocket? We're full up. You'll have to try somewhere else."

"Ugh!" Missy whipped around, rain springing off the ends of her hair. She stomped to the door.

"Parking lot is for guests only as well," the man said placidly.

She stopped at the door, watching the curtain of rain sweep down the glass. Tilting her head to the side, she gathered up her bedraggled hair and wrung it out, drenching the carpet.

Unbothered, the man said, "It'll just get wet again when you go out there."

Missy gave him a look over her shoulder. "Believe me, sir, I am aware." She angled her bag over her head and pushed out into the rain.

She drove back the way she came, too nervous to deviate in case her GPS shorted out again. The clouds grew darker and darker. The dusty roadway turned to a stream bed. She inched her way back up the mountain in her little car. The driest state in the country seemed ready to pour all night.

As the familiar stone wall marched up along the path, Missy glanced up the windy incline toward home. It looked like a mud slide waiting to happen. She stopped her car as close to the gate as possible and rolled down her window. The hammering of the rain swept into the car, drumming into her bones. She reached as far as she could without putting her body through the window and pressed the intercom button. "Chise?"

She waited, her arm limp out the window, immediately soaked.

A crackle. "Missy?"

"A guest room would be great."

The gate creaked open. Missy couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief, despite the uncomfortable prospect of spending the night in this stranger's house.

The front hall was darker than ever, but a light shown from the top of the stairs. Chise's voice drifted from her office, "I'm so sorry, I should have warned you we were due for rain. You must be soaked. The guest room is the last door on the right upstairs, bathroom across the hall."

"Thank you so much," Missy said, dripping in the dark hallway.

"Think nothing of it. We're colleagues. I've been studying your notes and I do believe--" She stopped herself. Missy could imagine her slamming the brakes on her mind, like her brothers when she pulled them away from one of their projects. "You've had a long day, I'm sure you'd rather not go into it now. I'll pull some of Hana's materials for you to look over in the morning. I'm a bit of a night owl anyway."

With a thankful goodnight, she headed up to the guest room. The furniture was dusty, the rug more cat hair than cloth, but the sheets smelled fresh and a towel was hung over the foot-board. Missy left the door ajar, in case any cats were hiding in there. She carefully dried out her hair and laid the towel on the radiator. For a guestroom of a deceased reclusive genius, it was despicably normal.

Missy found the little green-tiled bathroom next door, but it didn't offer much in the way of supplies. Toothpaste tubes and hairbrushes were thick with dust. The tub had a litter of kittens in it. Missy finished drying up the best she could, rinsed her mouth with tap water, and fell into bed.

The knot that had been twining itself up behind her breastbone unwound slowly. For the first time since she and her brothers gathered in their father's office, she could breathe. There were hitches, of course, that tangled in her alveoli and refused to be plucked apart. Her future lay in the hands of a strange woman who she hadn't even seen. She had a sudden notion that there was something wrong with Chise.

She was staying in a dead woman's home in the middle of nowhere, with a benefactress who wouldn't show her face. 'Well,' she decided, 'I'm either in a gothic romance or a horror movie. If it's the first, my father will turn out to be an imposter, I'll inherit a fortune, and I'll fall in love with an asshole. If it's the latter I'll be dead in about five minutes.'

Somewhere between waiting for a knife wielding maniac in a matron cap to take a stab at her and wondering if she should light a stubby candle and look for an attic to explore, Missy fell asleep.


	3. "A lab is no place for cats."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Missy goes shopping and gets fed up with mystery.

In the predawn hours, while Missy drifted between dreams, something warm draped itself over her legs. She imagined Chise's voice, softly singing gadgetry and snatches of code to life in her subconscious.

She woke to hard sunlight blazing off every dust mote and cat hair. A cat sat on her nightstand, lapping at a glass of water left there. A white and tan bobtail lay curled around her feet. "Sorry," she said as she pulled her legs up, causing it to stir. It blinked up at her from a round, sleepy face. "Wow," Missy said, stretching out her hand toward it. "I’ve never seen a cat with brown eyes. You're so pretty."

The cat yawned, the points of its little fangs catching the sun, and stalked away. Missy got up and followed it. It seemed there was a cat for each step, though they scattered as the white cat led her downstairs.

She peeked into the office and found a note.

Miss Amal,

I pulled some of Hana's old blueprints for you to look at. Take the staircase at the end of the hall up to the lab. You probably won't see me today, but I'll catch up with you soon. Feel free to take notes and tinker all you want.

Chise

The lab was small, computers and workspaces crammed under steeply sloped ceilings, glass-fronted cabinets lining the free walls. Specimens crowded each other on the shelves, taxidermy and mineral collections alongside old circuit boards and robotic scraps. The closest table held stacks of files, so many that Missy didn't know where to start. It didn't help that most of them were labeled in Japanese.

The bobtailed cat slipped in while Missy searched for her bearings. "Oh no," she said, snatching the cat up by the middle. "A lab is no place for cats." She glanced guiltily at one of the cabinets which displayed, among other things, a feline skeleton. "Er, not live cats anyway." She ignored the look of indignation on the bobtail's face and closed it out in the hall.

By the time she looked up from the first blueprint a few minutes later, the cat was sitting on the edge of the work table, straight as a statue, watching her through half-lidded eyes.

"How'd you—oh, nevermind," Missy said, sweeping one hand down the sleek curve of the cat's neck and back. She went back to reading, making neat notes in the margins.

She spent the afternoon studying Matsuko's technical drawings and researching emerging technologies. By the time she trudged down the stairs with the white cat at her heels, she felt, if not confident, more like a contender.

The kitchen at the back of the house looked as if it hadn't been used in ages, expect by the dozens of cats whose bowls were sprawled across the floor. Missy found dusty cookware and dishes in the cupboards, but the fridge help only an ancient bottle of soy sauce and a freezer-burned collection of chicken giblets. "That's funny." She glanced at the cat as she hip-checked a cupboard door. "I guess I should go to town. Are you going to show up mysteriously in my car?"

The cat blinked at her and began diligently washing a paw.

"All right, then, I'll see you later."

On the way to her car, she glanced over at the caretaker's house, just catching the spring of parted blinds snapping back into place. She scrambled into the driver’s seat and jerked her key in the ignition. The rumble of the motor startled her; she had barely realized how quiet it was out here. She hadn't even heard any birds since she came through the gate. As she drove out and on toward the nearest town, a latent sense of eeriness held her, ruining her appetite, but it was either go on or return to the house.

The town was reassuringly populated: people walking dogs, kids on a school playground, shoppers clustered in small stores. Missy thought she could've cleared out the tiny grocery without even trying.

She made sure to buy some perishables so she wouldn't be tempted to put off going back to the house. Besides, her mind was turning over those blueprints, and letting herself get worked up again wouldn't help her concentration.

When she drove up to the house, a sharp gray man was halfway into the old pickup on the lawn. He paused and watched her get out, noting her groceries with visible distaste. "You don't want to be staying in that house, missy," he said, one knobby hand clutching the top of the truck door.

Missy grimaced; she hated when people called her by name on accident. "I don't see why not," she said. "I've got permission, and work to do, if you'll excuse me."

"I don't know how you stand it," he said, crossing himself. "I ain't been in there but once, and nothing could possess me to go in again." Ignoring Missy's follow-up questions, he closed himself inside the cab and drove off.

There was a note waiting on the fridge.

Miss Amal,

I've looked over your notes and ordered some of the materials we'll need. If there's anything else, just let me know—I'll be in my office this evening, and I can start work on our device tonight.

Chise

When Missy got back to the lab, she saw that Chise had added her commentary to Missy's notes, expanding and explaining and drawing the enormity of the project into a manageable order. How had the other woman avoided her so completely, getting so much work done and slipping away in a matter of a few hours?

As she was about to settle in to work, her phone chimed. A text from Mitch.

_Matty says you've been MIA since the meeting. You OK?_

Of course Matt would pawn off trying to get in touch with her. Missy was the youngest, but somehow Matty was still the baby.

 _Fine. Keeping busy._ She didn't expect Mitch would take that veiled challenge seriously. Maybe he should.

 _Really?_ he texted back.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Missy thought but did not text.

 _Where are you staying?_ he followed up a minute later.

Where indeed. Missy looked around the scrunched up little lab, the plastic sheets stapled to the ceiling in case of leaks, the watchful cat skeleton in its cabinet. She went back to work.

The strangeness of the house ate at her, the dust and the quiet and the distant thuds and yowls of cats going about their business. She found herself checking her phone, losing her work time to the bright familiarity of social media and the latest videos from her friends. The white cat appeared every few hours as if to check up on her, and she would guiltily hide her phone away.

Long after the light had gone, the cat apparently decided enough was enough. It inserted itself between Missy and the desk and flopped down, stretching across the notes and diagrams. Missy coaxed and shoved, but the cat was solid and stubborn, and she was tired. She stumbled downstairs and stared into the fridge. She had bought so much food, and here she was missing her stomach.

"Missy?" Chise called from the office. Missy sighed. She couldn't sit through another meeting in the dark, staring at the back of a chair. She trudged down the hall, wondering if she was about to ruin everything.

"Yeah, hi," she said, hovering in the doorway.

From the darkness, Chise said, "How are you feeling about the project? I think we could have something in a few—"

"Um," Missy said, "we need to talk."

After a pause, Chise said, "Are you going to sit?"

Missy shuffled forward, feeling for the chair. She plunked down and glanced back at the door, half expecting the white cat to have followed her again. She wished it would come sit with her, help her do this. "I really appreciate all your help," Missy said, "and I'm really optimistic about this plan. It's just, I don't know if I can work like this. I mean this house, and that man, and the kitchen looks like no one's touched it for ages... I need to know what's going on."

Chise sighed. "I had hoped to put this off until—well, I should've known it wouldn't work. Before I explain, let me say something."

"Okay?"

"When we agreed to work together, I asked for a favor. If you decide to leave, I won't hold you to that, but I do need that favor as desperately as you need to win these challenges. More so. That’s why I… didn’t want to scare you off too soon.”

Missy swallowed hard. "I get it. Please tell me."

The chair spun toward her. It was empty.

Missy bolted up, peering into dark corners for the source of Chise's voice.

"I would sit, if I were you."

She dropped back into her chair. "Stop playing with me."

"I didn't mean to." A shape separated itself from the shadows of the high chair back. It leapt up to the desk and sat, statue-still, staring at its paws. The white cat said, "I'm sorry."

Missy ran until the screen door clanged shut behind her. She caught herself against the porch railing and clung to it. Her sporadic breathing rasped sharply through the clear, starry night. A calico, strewn across a porch step, lifted its head to fix her with one yellow eye.

"Can you talk, too?" Missy snapped.

The cat looked at her with disdain, rolled to its feet, and trotted away.


	4. "Get a grip, Mississippi."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Missy doesn't give up and her brother is an ass.

She couldn't leave. Her bag was in the guest room, her car keys, and all the progress they'd made—but she couldn't bring herself to go back in. She sat on the steps, shooing away any cats that came near. She was half asleep, her head resting on the rail, when something nudged her foot. She jumped and kicked out; the white cat leapt clear, her fur standing on end. "Sorry," she said; the voice, unnaturally made by her feline mouth, chilled goose bumps out of Missy's arms. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Missy stumbled to her feet, backing up the steps. "I... I'm just going to get my things and go."

"I understand." The white cat hung her head. "Take the research with you. Best of luck."

Missy paused. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm not coming back here. Our deal..."

"Was manipulative," Chise said. "You were very upfront with me about your needs, and I took advantage of your desperation. You should take our work. I have no use for it, in any case." She sat on the bottom step, her white fur gleaming in the moonlight. "I will be here, if you need me."

Missy kept her eyes on the cat until she backed into the screen. She hurried inside, slamming the door behind her.

With her meager possessions gathered and a bundle of notes and blueprints in hand, she rushed back out, past the motionless white cat, and threw everything into the car. In her hurry, she nearly forgot the headlights. She flicked them on, and screamed. A sea of yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. Missy thumped herself on the forehead. "Get a grip," she whispered, wrestling her car onto the dirt driveway. "Get a grip, Mississippi, they're only cats."

Her headlights panned across the front of the house. The white cat shone like a beacon, unmoving. Missy turned hard and drove away.

She didn't stop until she rolled up to her father's house in Berkeley. She'd rather have been almost anywhere else, but she was fresh out of people to run to. She sat in the car, glaring up at the tall, self-important trees that lined the gravel driveway. The blueprints crinkled as she gathered them in her arms. She should just go out back and throw them in the fire pit. No way could she build the prototype herself. She had no materials, no funding. The worst thing was she had been excited about their device. She wanted to see it come to life; she could picture the world where it was real, real enough to help people. She wanted to plunk it on her father's desk and prove him wrong. She wasn't useless.

Maybe, now that she had the blueprints, she could convince someone it was worth making. Her brothers couldn't have claimed every genius in Cali yet. She just had to find them.

Missy pulled her purse into her lap and dug for her phone. A slice of white caught her eye, an envelope she didn't remember. It wasn't sealed or addressed. Inside was a check. From Chise Matsuko to Mississippi Amal. It was more money than she, bound for the life of a starving artist, had ever expected to see.

She almost didn't take the money. But it was a very short almost.

While her three brothers bribed professors and peers and sponged every useful speck from their resources, Missy rented lab space and gathered her supplies in secret. Matty caught her on her way in one day, and against her better judgment, she showed him inside. He looked at the pin board hanging over her workspace and laughed, big. "This is what you're doing?"

"Yep," she said, snapping on her goggles. She teased coils of hair free and sealed the plastic tight.

"A hand-held allergen detector. Okay. So after you invent the tricorder, what's next, transporters or warp drive? You're never going to get this working."

"There's precedent." She picked up a blowtorch and turned toward him, casually and entirely unsafely. "It's what I wanted to do."

He sighed, a huge gust that seemed to propel him back, away from the torch. "For Mom, huh? I guess that's as good a reason as any."

As good a reason for Missy to waste her time, he meant. Because she had no hope of winning, whether she succeeded in creating a basic device or failed with an ambitious one.

She turned the torch on. "I've got work to do, Matt."

He laughed again, but this time it sounded sad. "All right. Good luck."

She grit her teeth and fired up her blowtorch.

Mostly, her brothers were cagey enough that they suppressed their obvious longing to brag. She didn't know much about what they were working on, and they didn't show any interest in her progress. None of them ever expected to lose to her.

Which made it all the sweeter when they did.

Her father hid his surprise admirably, but when the blind judging was over, he was obviously not expecting Missy to step forward and claim the winning device. His smile was thin as he shook her hand. "Excellent work, Mississippi."

Missy bit her tongue to keep from crying. It was the nicest thing her father had said to her in years.

Of course, then the old man had to go and give the next challenge. At least this one, Missy had a chance with: software development. She understood coding. It was like poetry.

After a weak congratulations from Matt and Mitch, Monty pulled her aside. "How did you do it?" he hissed.

"Do what, exactly?"

Monty rolled his eyes. "Come on, you're not capable of making something like that by yourself. Who's helping you?"

"No one," she said.

"Don't be stingy," he groused. "If you tell me where that thing came from, I'll share the winnings with you."

She wondered what his version of "share" might be. Less 50/50 and more 3/97, if she knew him. And she did. "You're barking up the wrong tree," she said, flicking the bridge of his glasses.

"Missy, you know you can't win," he said, straightening the non-prescription frames. "Face it, you missed the gene. Let someone who has a chance take over."

"Excuse me." Missy slithered by him. "But I've got work to do."

***

Missy closed herself up in her room, neck-deep in ideas for her programming project, avoiding her brothers' incredulity and suspicion. She barely spoke to anyone during the next week, until her phone pinged her out of her code-writing revelry. Someone had mentioned her on Twitter? She only used the app to follow a few favorite poets and tech bloggers; her follower count was barely in the double digits. Who would have...?

The mystery account, with its blank avatar and foreign username, was not an easy guess. But the message gave her away. 'I'm sorry to contact you like this, but there's something you should know.'

Missy resisted the urge to reply, 'How do you do this without thumbs?' Come to think of it, Chise's notes had been rather orderly for someone with no opposable digits. But she didn't want to know. Well, she did, but her weirdness-avoidance instinct was winning out over her scientific curiosity. And she didn't care what she 'should know.' She should know better than to correspond with haunted talking cats.

It took a few hours for Chise to try again. 'It's about your brother.'

Crap. Missy followed her back and opened a direct message. 'What did he do?'

'He's been parked outside the gate since this morning. I don't think he's going away.'

'What's he doing there?'

'You didn't tell him? He knew I helped you, and he's offering to pay me to work on this next challenge with him. I tried to turn him down, but he won't take no for an answer.'

'Well if he's not listening to you, he won't listen to me. You haven't called the police on him, have you?'

'I can't do that.'

Of course not—she's a cat, Missy thought. 'I'll call him.'

'Thank you.'

Missy pulled up Monty's number. He didn't pick up. Well, if he was being stubborn, she would be too. Around the fifth call, he finally answered. "What is your problem?"

"How did you know about Matsuko?" Missy shot back. "Did you hack my computer again?"

He chuckled. "You really should clear your search history more carefully."

"You are such a pig." Missy took a deep breath and tried to stop feeling like she was nine years old again. "She's not going to help you. She doesn't want to get involved. So stop annoying her so she'll stop annoying me."

"Easy for you to say," he snapped. "Find the best resources for the challenge you suck at, then hide it all away when you're in your element. Way to play fair."

"Oh, and where was this teamwork and co-ownership philosophy _before_ I won a challenge? Smothered by your dickish delusions of grandeur? You all were content to leave me with nothing."

"This is business, Mississippi," he said. "Not personal. And I don't care what it takes; I'm going to win this."

Missy heard his car door opening. "Where are you going?"

The door slammed. "I'm done talking through a goddamn intercom. If this Matsuko really can't be bought, she can tell me so to my face."

"What? Monty, don't you dare."

He laughed, smug. "You think I'm all talk, but I'm not. This fence isn't so high, but I'll need both my hands, so I'm gonna let you go."

"Monty!" she yelled over the broken line. He'd already hung up.

Missy opened up her DMs. 'He's hopping your gate. I tried to stop him.'

Chise answered, 'Oh well. I'll handle it.'

Missy had the sudden image of Grant the groundskeeper running Monty over in his truck. Or Chise and all the other cats swarming him like a cloud of locusts. Was her brother about to be cat food?

Well. Maybe it served him right.


	5. "Did I overdo it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chise kills two birds with one stone.

She didn't hear from Chise again, and to her slight surprise, Monty came home the next morning. He didn't look any worse for wear; in fact, he seemed pleased. Missy wondered what had happened with him and Chise—did he know about the white cat? Did Chise get him to leave empty-handed, and if so, how? Or did she help him? Or did he force her to?

Against her better judgment, she messaged Chise one last time. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes, thank you for asking.'

Okay, that cleared up precisely nothing. But the deadline for the second challenge was coming up. Time to get back to programming.

She finished just in time, meeting her brothers at the office. Mitch went first, fidgeting nervously as his program had no effect on their father. Monty's turn. He took a flashdrive from his pocket, plugged it into their father's computer, and bam. The thing went haywire.

"What is this?" their father said dryly, raising one eyebrow on his otherwise immobile face.

"Um," Monty said, and frantically pulled the flashdrive out again. The computer continued wigging out like a raver on speed.

Their father's scowl was a slow, creeping thing that dragged his whole face downward. "If this is a joke, we are not laughing."

Monty cracked a sickly grin and started trying to regain control, typing in every override and reset command he knew. Nothing worked.

Missy stepped up beside him, ducked under one heavily sweating arm, and plugged in her own drive.

"What are you doing?" Monty shrieked, but by the time he'd finished his sentence, the screen was back to normal.

Their father's cell phone buzzed; he answered the call on speaker with a curious quirk to his mouth.

"Mr. Amal," his secretary said, "we're getting reports of some kind of malfunction all along the network. It seems to have disappeared, but with no explanation. The tech crew is asking if they should reset the system."

"No need, I think," their father answered. "It's taken care of." He turned to Missy. "Isn't it?"

"I think so," she said, bumping Monty out of the way so she could check her program. "It's designed to capture and contain unwanteds. The active branch of the software will be killed automatically, deleting Monty's virus."

Monty stared down at his flashdrive, the casing cracked from being crushed in his fist. "That bitch."

"Excuse me?" Missy glanced up from the computer. "Language?" Her other brothers laughed, though neither looked too happy about being upstaged by their little sister again.

"Montgomery," their father said, "did you test this program before plugging it into the network which runs my entire company?"

Monty's lips disappeared into one hard line. "I'm sorry, sir. None of this was intentional."

"Hm." Their father turned back to Missy, who straightened up from the computer and tried not to crow. "Excellent work, Mississippi. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for the final challenge."

The flush of triumph dropped like a stone into Missy's stomach, leaving her fingers cold. "Thank you, Daddy." She didn't know how her father was weighting the challenges, but if she had to guess, the last one was the most important. And for her, at least, the most difficult.

Monty stormed off while the rest of them lingered in hall. They watched him go, Mitch and Matt shaking their heads. "It was good luck you were working with malware," Mitch said. "Where did Monty get that disaster?"

Missy shrugged and looked down at the toes of her shoes. The worn rubber of her sneakers looked so out of place, pointed haphazardly at her brothers' shiny loafers.

"Whoever is was," Matty said with a snicker, "they're in for it now. We'd better check Monty's room for napalm."

Crap. Missy jolted and turned away.

"Hey, where you going, Einstein? Let us treat you to dinner."

"Next time!" she called over her shoulder as she ran for the door.

Her brothers laughed, a sour edge to their fondness. "Getting cocky, isn't she?" Missy heard one of them say before their voices died away.

She got straight in her car and started driving. Monty's car was already gone. 'He won't go straight there,' she reassured herself as she merged onto the freeway. 'If he's trying to get back at her, he'll need supplies. Won't he?' She watched for his car every second of every hour until she drove up to the Matsuko property gate. She jumped out and pressed the intercom button. "Chise?"

No answer, no static. Missy weaved back and forth in front of the gate, checking every angle through the bars, but no sign of Monty. She went back to the intercom. "Chise!"

"Hello."

Missy looked up, backing away from the wall. The white cat walked daintily across the stone. "Thank God, I thought he'd done something to you."

"Your brother?" Chise sat, her smooth white paws curled on the edge of the wall. "Did I overdo it?"

"No, you were brilliant! It's just he booked it out of there so fast, I figured he was coming here. You haven't seen him?"

"No, but Grant is here today, so I'm not worried."

"Okay." Missy leaned against the hood of her car and let the anxiety drain out of her. "Okay."

There was silence for a long minute while Chise watched her decompress from atop the wall. "How did the second challenge go?"

"Good. Actually kind of great. My program ate his for breakfast."

She purred. Missy jumped back in surprise and almost wanted to laugh at herself. Chise said, "When he told me what you were doing, I hoped it might work out that way."

Missy opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say.

Chise said, "It was nice of you to come check on me."

"Right." Missy smoothed down her dress, rumpled from the panicky drive. "So, Grant can take care of it, you think?"

"I imagine so. Though you might want to warn your brother about the shotgun."

"Yeesh." Missy ran a sweaty palm up her forehead, plastering back a swath of hair. "Ya'll don't mess around."

Chise shrugged with her whole body, in the way of cats. "He has not ever actually shot someone, to my knowledge."

"Chise," she said around a laugh. But in finding what she wanted to say, her humor dried up. "Why did you lie to me?"

The cat blinked slowly and looked away. "What do you mean?"

"You told me you worked with Matsuko. That you were related."

"That's true."

"It can't be true! You're a god damn cat!"

The cat's half-lidded eyes were impossible to read. "Cats can't talk, Missy."

"YES. I know this. I'm fucking aware, thank you." Missy turned back to her car. "I'll just wait for Monty."

"I'm sorry."

Missy hesitated at her open door.

"I haven't been honest with you, it's true. I find it very hard to be honest in my situation." Okay, understandable. "I would like to... to try and explain, if you'll let me."

Missy took a deep breath. She hip-checked her car door shut and turned back to the white cat. "Let's make sure my brother isn't going to bomb your house first."

***

Missy parked her car sideways on the dirt road and watched Monty roll up, dust blooming in his wake. He skidded to a stop just short of her; she barely had room to open the door and get out. Leaning out his window, he yelled, “Move your damn car or I’ll ram it out of the way.”

“And Daddy would be so thrilled about that insurance claim,” she said, resting her hips against the searing hot metal of her front hood.

“I’m serious, Missy. I’m not letting her off.”

Missy strolled closer, curling one hand around the side mirror. His car smelled like an oil leak. “Question. How much did you pay Matsuko for creating that program?”

He scowled up at her and revved the engine, but she only leaned closer and stared at him, waiting. “Nothing, but that’s not the point! We had an understanding.”

“I think you misunderstood the understanding. In fact, I think you misunderstand this entire situation.” Missy rested her arm on the top of the door, leering through the window. “You’re acting like a jackass. And I’m sure if Dad learned about this, he’d jettison you like a load of trash, no third challenge necessary.”

“I’m not going to win!” he shouted, shoving her away from his car. “I don’t care about the contest!”

“Yeah, I can tell.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t know why Dad is putting us through this. And I would have given up, easy, if it weren’t for Matsuko. And I wouldn’t have cared if you used her, too, but she does not want you here.” She turned away. “You need to take the hint. It’s not her fault you were too careless to realize what was happening.”

Monty’s window hissed, his face disappearing as the darkened glass rose. Just before it closed, Missy added, “And by the way. The groundskeeper has a shotgun.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the idling of Monty’s engine. He swung into reverse; Missy gave her own car a wide berth in case he followed through on his threat. He backed onto the shoulder, crushing two tracks in the dry grass, and turned back the way he had come.


	6. "I'm on my way to start work with my friend the cat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Missy gets some answers.

The inside of the house was just as Missy remembered, except now that the cats were used to her, they swarmed instead of running off. She almost lost sight of Chise in the sea of furry bodies clustered around her legs, but she followed her voice deeper in.

“I think there’re some stuff in the fridge, still, from your last visit,” Chise said.

Missy found herself a can of soda and a creamsicle. She sat, one cat in her lap and another on her feet. Chise and a gang of feline followers sat on the table, their tails often threatening her drink. “So. I’m expecting one hell of a story, here.”

Chise dipped her head, brown eyes smiling. “I hope I don’t disappoint.

“The first thing you should know is that I have a fairy godmother.”

Missy choked out a laugh. “Oh?”

Chise looked down her nose at her. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. My mother was owed a rather serious favor by some clients."

"You can't just say that," Missy said. "I mean, come on."

Chise laughed, a breathy hitch. Cats definitely were not made for laughing. "Fairies and metal don't mix well. My mother developed devices the fae could use--they were apparently very eager to get their hands on cell phones, among other things. When I was born, Mama's best client offered to be my godmother. She gave me a gift—a set of enchanted gloves she called my Governess. This freed up Mama to continue her work; a win for the fae and for her, since she had no interest in giving up her career. Governess took care of me, and my godmother kept in touch, but Mama hardly noticed me at all until I was old enough to be interested in what she was doing. We did work together, but it was more like having a boss than a mother." Missy felt that like a kick to the stomach. "Then she got sick, and had her will drawn up. You might be able to guess what it said.” Chise cast a significant look at the cluster of cats around them.

Missy stopped sucking on the spent icecream stick; it clattered to the floor. “She didn’t.”

“Left everything to the cats. Oh, she put up some provisions for me—as long as I stayed in this house and took care of them. But nothing was mine, nothing showed that I was any closer to her than the next person with thumbs and the ability to scoop a little box.”

A little hole opened in Missy's gut, a hollow fellow-feeling. Her throat closed, the way it did when she walked into her father's office. “I’m so sorry.”

Chise bared her tiny cat teeth in an approximation of a smile. “My godmother was very unimpressed by this. Fairies have their own sense of morality, but they put a lot of stock in family ties. She came up with a way to change my mother’s mind before she passed. The curse.” Chise lifted a paw in demonstration. “She turned me into a cat, assuming my mother would realize how much I meant to her and do anything to change me back. It wasn’t until it was done that I saw all the flaws in the plan.

"First, my mother loved me better as a cat. She absolutely refused to turn me back, and it did not help that the cure is... distasteful. Second, the curse cannot be undone by any other means. I'm not even sure the cure would work for anyone except my mother, but my godmother claimed it must at least be done properly by a human, no magic."

Missy grimaced. "So that's the favor you wanted. What is the cure?"

Chise closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I've changed my mind about trying it."

"Does that mean I'm off the hook?" Missy asked.

With a lazy cat shrug, Chise answered, "I suppose it does. Anyway, now it is I who am in your debt. You came running to my rescue when you had every reason to stay away."

"You weren't really in danger," Missy hedged.

"It's the thought that counts. So. Tell me about this third challenge?"

Missy smiled. "I was hoping you'd ask." She pulled out her phone and opened up the notes she'd taken during the last meeting with her father. "We're supposed to assemble a team and proposals as if we were restructuring our father's company. I'm sure my brothers are going to every professional they've ever rubbed elbows with, but I don't have anyone to recruit. Even the people I can think of, I don't really want to work with any of them. Except you."

The cat looked away modestly. "I'm happy to help, but I don't think I will count much toward your team, in my condition. And obviously, I won't be able to collaborate directly with anyone else you bring in."

"I know." Missy leaned back, balancing her chair on two legs. "I keep coming back to this feeling like, you know, this whole set up is ridiculous. I picture myself trying to run my dad's company, the people I would want with me most are my brothers—the older two, not Monty."

"Have you talked to them?" Chise asked.

The chair tottered; Missy caught the edge of the table. "It wouldn't work. Only one of us can really win, and there's so much at stake. And if I try pulling something like this on my father, my chances of being that winner go down to zero."

Chise flexed her front paws, claws peeking from the soft white fur. "Let's see what we can come up with together. Maybe it'll give you some inspiration for your team."

"All right." Missy lowered her chair to the floor and stood. "I should get some things from home, so I won't have to run back mid-project."

Chise watched from the center of the table, perfectly still, smiling. "I'll get the guest room ready."

The drive home was much more pleasant that her panicked journey out. Missy let one arm drift on the wind through the open window. The winding highway looked like it might lead her right into the darkening gold horizon. By the time she pulled into her usual spot, night had long since fallen and the house was dark. She crept up the stairs.

A light spilled from the last door at the end of the main hallway. Her father must have been up working late. She tiptoed away toward her own room, hesitated. She glanced back at that slip of light. If she hadn't known better, she might have said it looked inviting.

She half expected her father to step out at any moment. He would catch her in idleness, question her devotion to the challenge. And what could she say back? "I'm on my way to start work with my friend the cat"?

She knew what she wanted to say. "Why are you doing this to us?" The thought sat sour in her mouth, chipping at the backs of her teeth. But there was no use in asking why he had to pit them against each other. It made no sense, and also perfect sense.

The thing was, their father didn't know them that well. He knew their grades and extracurricular, their reputations and records, but he'd never been around enough to really understand who they were. Apparently he thought the challenges was the best way to test their mettle. Being the kind of person he was, he would figure this little charade could tell him everything he needed to know about his children. Of course he would do something like this. To her father, family was a meritocracy. Heaven forbid he allot his wealth to take care of them all just because they were his.

"I don't want to run your company," she said in her fantasy. "I just want to write poetry and not starve."

She wondered if she had ever been really honest with her father about anything. If so, it had been a long while.

Missy tore herself away from the light. She felt her way down the hall into her room. It had changed very little during her life, but it didn't look like a child's room. It could have been a suite in a hotel.

Missy made a mess of pulling things out of drawers and off desks, stuffing her knapsack and leaving the rejects strewn over her bed and carpet. She slipped from the house as quietly as she had entered.

The moment she got into bed, a pack of cats flooded the guest room and draped themselves all over her. She certainly wouldn't be cold. Missy scanned the furry bodies, but the white cat wasn't there. She'd been half-afraid Chise would go back to sleeping at her feet. That would have been a bit awkward.

Before she could get to sleep, her phone vibrated on the bedside table, making the water quiver in the glass. Her eldest brother's text stared at her, almost blinding in the dark room. He was worried about her, the way she'd run off after the meeting and, as far as he knew, never come back.

Missy kept her reply simple: _I'm working on my team._ Her finger hovered over the send button. She added, _keep an eye on Monty for me, ok?_ And she pinned her location, just in case Grant turned out to be an ax murderer after all.

After a minute, the phone buzzed again. _He won’t bother you, no worries. Good luck._

She blinked. None of them had said that since the challenge began, not since Matty sarcastically wished her luck on the device he never thought she could build. How could he tell her "good luck" as if they weren't all out to destroy each other?

'I don't want to do this anymore.' She stared up at the ceiling, searching for patterns in the paint strokes while the thought ran her over, backed up, ran her over again. 'I never wanted to do this, but it's different now. I want to see the challenge through, but I don't want to win, not if it means they all lose.'

Though if she did win, she could restructure the company, let them all in. But their father would never go for that, and by the time he retired, they'd all be off in other careers. No. It had to be now.

Missy jumped out of bed, scattering cats left and right, and headed up to the lab. As she approached the half-open door, she heard, "All right, let's put those files away and focus on this one."

Missy toed the door open. The white cat looked up from her place on the drafting table. "You're still up?" Chise asked. "You had a long day."

A file cabinet drawer rattled open; Missy jumped. A pair of white gloves floated in mid-air, holding a sheath of paper.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Chise said, "you haven't been introduced. Missy, this is Governess."

One glove zipped toward Missy, who stumbled back against the door. The glove held itself out, as if waiting for a handshake. "Uh," Missy said, "am I going to... offend her if I don't?"

"No, no, Governess can't be offended. She's essentially an AI. Siri has more personality." Chise flicked an ear at the gloves. "Back to work, please." They floated toward the table, awaiting orders.

"I couldn't sleep," Missy said. "I keep thinking about my brothers. I need to at least talk to them."

Chise said, "I thought you might. I've been trying to come up with a plan that would utilize their strengths—something that might entice them to look past the risk." She pawed restlessly at the file spread out before them. "What do you think?"

Missy leaned in close, boobs and elbows smushed against the table, and drank it in. Her eyes grew until they felt too big for her face. "Chise, I love you."

Once they had their plan mapped out, Missy texted Mitch and Matt. She thought about pulling in Monty for a hot second, then remembered that chemical smell coming out of his car. She looked at Chise, curled up for a nap on top of an old CRT monitor. Five was a crowd.

***

They stood by the screen door, waiting. "You should go out to greet them," Chise said. "I'll watch."

"No, come with me." Missy knelt, arms out. "I want you with me."

Chise regarded her for a long moment. She stepped into the circle of her arms. Her paws curled over Missy's sleeve, clawing nervous little pricks into her arm as Missy cradled her. "Governess," Chise called, "the gate, please."

Missy carried her out to the porch as a dusty black Mercedes pulled in. Cats scattered, under the porch and brush, under Missy's car and Grant's truck, and through the dark doorway behind them, until Chise was the only one left in sight. Missy felt their eyes on her, felt their ears twitch at every creak of the porch steps.

Matt and Mitch stood on either side of the car, almost hiding behind its open doors. They looked at everything—house, dust, cat, Missy herself—as if they had arrived on Mars. "Hey," Matt said, hanging on the car door, "everything okay?"

"I'm fine. Come on, let's talk inside."

The car doors closed, soft with reluctance, and the boys followed her. "Whose house is this, exactly?" Mitch asked.

"You remember Hana Matsuko? It's her old place. Her daughter Chise has been helping me use some of her work on the challenges."

"Ah. We did wonder." Matt elbowed Mitch in the gut. "Oof— Not that you couldn't have done it yourself."

"Oh, no, I couldn't have. Not the first one, at least." Missy toed the screen door open and help it with her hip. "Go on in. Chise is sort of a night owl, so you probably won't meet her, but I want to show you what we've been working on."

Matt laughed. "That's some confidence. Aren't you afraid we'll siphon off your brilliance?"

Missy paused at the foot of the stairs. Chise flexed her claws; Missy held her a little closer. "I trust you two. Do you trust me?"

The brothers looked at each other, then back at her. "You're no cheat," Matt said.

Mitch nodded. "You've always had our backs. The challenge doesn't change that."

Missy bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Good. Just... keep that in mind for the next hour."

The boys made faces at that, but they followed her up the stairs.


	7. “The cats are being weird.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cats are being weird.

After weeks of work, Missy decided something special was due. She drove out to the closest farmer's market. Her eyes jumped from glowing local honey to piles of pastries and produce, but it was the peaches that drew her. Blushing gold, their sweetness filled the air. The fuzz clung to her fingers as she picked one up.

A girl sat on the table, popping her gum and drumming her freckled legs against the crates underneath. "We got a sale on squash and tomatoes." Missy took almost too much to carry. She escaped before the girl talked her into one more armful of zucchini.

The boys were putting final touches on their proposals. They paced around the living room, monologuing to a couch full of cats. They looked up from their practice when Missy came in, and Mitch juggled half the groceries out of her arms and helped take them to the kitchen, still reading aloud. Chise watched from the top of an old upright piano and gave her a wink.

The smell of hot oil filled the house. Mitch eventually took the spatula from Missy's hand and sent her to give the speech her once-over. She and Matt danced around the room, reading more like amateur actors than business proposers. Chise couldn't keep the feline smirk off her face, and every time she caught it Missy laughed.

They kept working over dinner, agonizing over every word. Missy's brothers attacked the challenge with the same fever-light in their eyes that she felt. She had always liked this plan, but nothing she'd ever done had burrowed into her this way. It was a risk, but as the discussion trickled away to a pleased, full silence, she was more sure than ever that this was one worth taking.

Missy brought out her bushel of peaches for dessert. They couldn't bring themselves to add anything to them; each bite was perfectly sweet, the fuzzy skin mellowing the tang. Her brothers inhaled them one after another, while Missy labored over her first peach. She wouldn't let one drop of juice be wasted running down her chin.

She kept one hand free, to steady Chise where she lay curled in Missy's lap. The white cat, not one to play at the round-eyed begging of some of her fellow felines, stared with open envy at the delicate teeth marks in Missy's dwindling peach.

"Do you want some?" Missy asked, holding the fruit down toward Chise's twitching nose.

"I wouldn't," Mitch said. "What if it's toxic to cats?"

Matt whipped out his phone to look it up, but Chise had already decided against it. She slid down from Missy’s lap like a bolt of silk and padded silently away. There was no more to discuss and little left to do. They had two days.

“We should head home,” Mitch said. “Matt and I can introduce you to our people.”

Missy sucked at the little sour strings stuck in her peach pit. How could she get them to stay? It wasn’t fair to leave Chise out of the final steps. But as far as her brothers knew, Chise was locked away in her office; no reason they couldn’t keep her in the loop via email, since they never saw her anyway.

“I think I work better here,” she said. She resisted the temptation to lick her sticky fingers. “One more night can’t hurt, right?”

“Unless one of us develops a sudden cat allergy,” Matt joked. A huge orange shorthair had taken over his lap.

“As long as we get back in time for a good long shower,” Mitch said. “The hot water heater in this place is the size of a coffee mug.”

That gave them until tomorrow night. Missy left her brother to do dishes. She peeked into the living room, parlor, and office, but there was no sign of Chise. Guest rooms, bathrooms, lab—not one nook or cranny held her white cat. “Where did she get to?” Missy asked an old tabby as she nearly tripped over it on the stairs. The cat twitched its ears at her and dashed to the bottom step. It looked back at her, expectant, and meowed.

Missy made her way down after it. By the time she reached the landing, the tabby had taken the next flight down. A small herd of cats followed along, darting around Missy’s legs.

The tabby stopped, waiting for her by the door. It kneaded the screen, the clang of claws on wire grating Missy’s ears.

“What’s that noise?” Matt asked from the kitchen.

Missy looked down the dark hallway at the back of his head, bent over a sud-filled sink. She glanced at the pool of cats swarming around her feet. “The cats are being weird.”

Her brother shrugged. “That’s what they do, isn’t it?”

Missy opened the door, stumbling out in a surge of furry bodies. The cats fled the porch in every direction. Missy searched for the tabby coat; it was impossible to see in the dark. She followed the meowing around the side of the house, half expecting to find nothing more than a dead bird or a new litter of kittens.

What she found was the wood shed, its door listing open. The soft murmur of a cat conference leaked out, drawing her close. In the shed, the blue moonlight gave way to deep black. Missy took out her phone and pointed the screen through the gap.

At first all she could see was a wall of shining yellow eyes. She blinked, and the scene took shape. Chise sat on a work table, surrounded by a dozen cats. They paced and nuzzled, groomed and purred, but she hardly seemed to notice them. Her gaze was fixed on the Governess; a little ax floated above her, gripped in the pearly white gloves.

At the sudden light, cats scattered, and Chise turned her head. She blinked, slowly, and then looked back at the ax. “Go inside, Missy.”

“What are you doing?!” Missy shoved through the door and grabbed at the ax handle. Governess evaded, bobbing up toward the ceiling. “What’s wrong with that damn thing!”

“Nothing is wrong with Governess,” Chise said. “She is only following orders.”

“Chise, what the hell?”

The white cat leaped up the nearest shelf, toward the ax. “This is the cure,” she said, staring at the dull metal. “If my mother had done it, I would have been human again in an instant. I’m not sure it will work, with the Governess. But I have to try.”

“Really?!” Missy scrambled up on the table, scraping her knees. Cats scurried out of her way. She reached out, but the Governess swept beyond arm’s length again. “You can’t just let her kill you!”

The cat’s eyes glowed in the half-light of Missy’s dropped cell phone. She backed away from Missy’s outstretched hands. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Chise-“ The Governess swung, and Missy jumped. She knocked the ax off course, but the gloves held on. “For God’s sake, give it to me, you useless piece of cloth!” She looked up at the cat on her shelf. “You said a human had to do it! Why didn’t you ask me?”

Silence. The cat landed on the table and sat, hunched, facing the wall. “I couldn’t.”

“You were going to,” Missy said. “From the day we met you were planning to have me do it. What’s wrong with you?”

“I was afraid.”

“You think I’m not? I could kill you!”

The cat’s head shook, whiskers quivering. “That’s not what scares me. I’m a cat; it’s not like I have a long, full life ahead of me.”

Missy almost dropped the ax. “I thought you wanted to do this together. I thought we were partners.”

The cat glanced over her shoulder, then away again. “I do want that. More than anything in my life. But not like this. The secret, the one you drive out to visit when you get a chance, the business partner who doubles as a pet.” Her words pitched high and thin, half-lost in a cat’s yowl. “I want to go with you, Missy!”

Missy let out a long breath and looked at the edge of the ax head. “You could have asked.”

The cat turned to her, looking as calm as a cat could. “You could have said no. My mother… she couldn’t do what needed to be done. If you turned out to be the same…”

Missy gripped the ax in both hands. The gloves fluttered out of her way. “If you’re sure.”

Those huge brown eyes blinked, languidly, and the cat laid her head down on the table. “There’s one more favor you can do for me.”

“What’s that?” Missy twisted her hands around the ax, palms slick with sweat.

“When I… wake up, the first thing I will want to do is kiss you. If you'll let me.”

Missy’s laugh was half a sob. “Okay.” She adjusted her grip and raised the ax. “Are you ready?”

The cat’s eyes drifted closed. “Get my head off cleanly, if you can.”

It only took one stroke, but there was nothing clean about it. Missy knelt in the dust, her arms speckled with blood, and wept at the sight of the little white head lying in the red pool on the table. She waited until her heart felt ready to burst. The ax fell from her hand; tepid blood mixed with hot tears as she hid her face. The silken hand of the Governess stroked her back.

“Missy.”

She looked up. A girl sat on the table’s edge. White hair drifted around her round, wide-eyed face like a cloud. Her bare feet hit the floor softly as a cat’s. She stood for a moment, pale blue in the cell phone light, every naked inch of her human as could be. A thin red line ringed her neck.

Chise toppled down onto Missy, arms tight around her as they rolled to the floor, laughing. Missy stared up at the familiar brown eyes. “It wor—“

Chise cut her off with a kiss. It stole the breath out of her. Missy gasped against her lips, torn between the need for air and the pull of Chise. Gentle hands worked their way into the coils of her hair, nails prickled on her scalp, thighs tightened around her hips. There was no reason to think Chise would ever let her go. She was okay with that.

A swish of fabric made them turn, though as their lips broke apart Chise lowered her head to keep their cheeks side by side. An empty nightgown fluttered in the doorway, held by the Governess. She flapped it at Chise expectantly.

Chise sat up, flushed to the ears, and let Governess tug the garment over her head. “You know, I didn’t even notice?” She smoothed the white fabric down, covering all the important bits.

Missy pushed up on her elbows, and Chise shifted so she could sit, though neither moved to get up.

Governess fussed about, straightening Chise’s tangled hair and dusting off a pair of boots for her. Finally, out of tasks, the gloves approached, more slowly than Missy had ever seen them move. They cupped Chise’s face gently; the way she leaned into the touch, eyes closed, reminded Missy so strongly of the white cat, she wanted to cry. It felt like the cat was dead, even though she could see so much of it in the girl.

“You told me Governess was like an AI.” Missy gasped, still catching her breath.

Chise gathered the gloves up and held them against her heart. “I lied. Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you away again.”

Missy laughed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Chise’s answering grin warmed her; her hands stopped shaking. “I can see that.” Chise turned her attention back the Governess. The gloves clung to her fingers. “Oh, Governess, what would I have done without you?” She kissed the back of each white glove and let them go. “You know I have to leave you behind, but I have a very important job for you.” She glanced over at Missy with a solemn smile. “Take care of the cats.”


	8. “Your reflex is to hiss at me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Missy and Chise tackle the final challenge.

By the time Matt and Mitch came down the next morning, the girls had already packed their car. Missy was frying the last of the eggs while Chise sat on the counter, surrounded by cats, and devoured peach after peach. “Hello,” she said between bites.

Missy looked up from her frying pan and couldn’t help but laugh at her brothers' expressions. They gaped at Chise like she was an alien. “Miss Matsuko, allow me to introduce Michigan and Matterhorn Amal. Guys, this is our host.”

“Hello,” Mitch said while Matt was still recovering. “Sorry, we just… didn’t expect to meet you.”

Chise grinned around a mouthful of peach. “I couldn’t let you three take all the credit, could I? So I figured I had better come along.” She stretched out a sticky hand. “Being partners and all, I feel like I know you already.”

The boys shook her hand and accepted the plates of eggs Missy pushed at them. They gathered around the table, and the dynamic of the past weeks slipped into place. In some way, it was as if her brothers could feel that Chise had been there the whole time.

They set out for Berkeley early. Chise, after about an hour of threatening to be sick from all the peaches, curled up in the front seat and fell asleep.

Missy followed her brother’s taillights through dust and smog, until finally they rolled up outside the house. There was no sign of Monty’s car. Missy pulled a groggy Chise out of her seat and smuggled her up the stairs.

Nothing left to do but wait. Her brothers were calling in last-minute favors, shoring up their defenses in case Missy's plan went down in flames. Missy didn't have a back-up plan. She had Chise, but two people did not make a team. Besides, Missy didn't much care for the idea of them running a whole company by themselves. That would leave Chise to do most of the heavy lifting. Chise had been stuck in one place for so long, she deserved better than to find herself immediately chained to a desk.

Chise sat for a long time, looking out the window. She could be uncommonly still. At one point Missy left to get them both pineapple juice, just to make sure she could still move. Chise held the glass between her crooked-up knees and grabbed Missy's hand, holding her fast. The sun had set; the valley was a patchwork of lights. "It's so bright," Chise said, soft as breathing.

"After the meeting, we'll drive around," Missy promised. "We'll go wherever you want."

Still turned to the window, Chise shifted her gaze, watching Missy's reflection. "The ocean?"

Missy squeezed her fingers. "Sure. Drink your juice."

***

Eventually, Missy had either to go to bed or fall asleep sitting up, loathe as she was to leave Chise alone. She tossed and turned a few minutes before the bed dipped beside her. A pale arm slunk over her, and a head burrowed between her shoulder blades. Missy warmed, toes to ears, as Chise curled up next to her. It wasn't any of the reactions she'd expected—shame, self-consciousness, desire. What she felt was an immense gratification, as if she had passed a test. As if a stray cat had decided to trust her.

"Are you asleep?" Missy whispered.

The head shook, soft hair brushing against her back. "Not tired. Thought you could use some company."

Missy shifted closer, melting into Chise's arms. She remembered how natural it felt, waking up to the cozy weight of the white cat draped over her ankles. "Do you think you'll miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"You know. Being a cat."

Chise laughed, her whole body curling against the curve of Missy's back. "Everybody wants to be a cat, huh?" Her hand, cold from being pressed to the window all night, traced a line of goose bumps down Missy's arm. "There were some good things. The others were like family to me. I took a lot of naps. And scaring the hell out of Grant now and then had its charms. But it wasn't real." Her arms went brittle around Missy's waist. "I sat at my mother's side while she was dying, knowing that she was fine with never seeing my real face again. Leaving me trapped in this body, in that place. It was like I was dead, too. The cats, they gave me more love than I had ever had in my life, but it was so lonely. Some days I wished I would really become a cat. Forget my old life. But it never happened."

Missy closed her hands around Chise's stiff fingers. "I'm glad. And I'm sorry."

"Mm, Mississippi." Chise pressed a kiss at the nape of her neck. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

In far too few hours, Missy’s alarm was buzzing, pulling her from the warm tangle of her bed. She slipped through Chise’s grasping arms and went to the window. Craning her neck, she could just barely see the driveway.

Monty was home.

While Chise rifled through the closet for something that wouldn’t swamp her, Missy sat on her bathroom counter, wrestling her hair. Her father liked things to be tidy, and her hair was, generally, not that.

Chise came in with an armful of dresses and hissed. She clamped her teeth shut with a _click_ and covered her mouth daintily. “Sorry. Reflex.”

“Your reflex is to hiss at me?”

Missy stuck the dozenth bobby pin into her bun, anchoring the last few strays.

“Not at you. At the librarian who did your hair.” She dropped the pile of clothes on the counter and trailed her fingers over the baby hair at the nape of Missy’s neck.

“Trust me, it won’t last.” Missy could make herself a crash-proof helmet of hair product, and her curls would still fight their way to freedom. “Did you find anything?”

Chise held up a sequence of clothes, most of which were too casual for the meeting. Missy did not engage much with formal wear. “It’s too bad you outgrew all your old stuff,” Missy said.

“I couldn’t have worn it anyway,” Chise said. “I used to dress like… a nerdy teenager who never left the house.” She cast off another dress. “Because that’s what I was.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” Missy discarded another three dresses. They were down to two. “Okay, try this on.”

Chise stripped her nightgown off. Missy glanced away. “Sorry,” Chise said as she flailed through a shift-dress, searching for the neck. “I figured you’d already seen it.”

Missy laughed through the fierce blush trying to burn her face off. “It might take some getting used to. I grew up with a house full of boys.”

“Understandable.” Chise poked her arms through the sleeves and shook the dress out around her. “How’s it look?”

Missy pursed her lips. “Like I put Barbie clothes on a Bratz doll.”

“I’m going to assume that’s bad,” Chise said, and shucked the dress off again. She stepped into the next one and turned, offering the zipper. Missy zipped her up; she spun around. “Better?”

Missy sighed. “We’ll put a belt on it.”

They were still debating about shoes when her brothers came knocking. Chise slipped on a too-big pair of boots and shrugged. “Ready as we’ll ever be, right?”

Missy smiled. “I’m so sorry you have to meet my dad.”

“Do you think he’ll ask about my intentions?” Chise said with mock-worry.

Missy shh’d her. “Matty and Mitch can hear you.”

“All we can hear is the sound of us running late,” Mitch called through the door.

“Maybe that’s my plan,” Missy said as she stepped into the hall. “Wait ‘til the last second so Montgomery doesn’t see us coming.”

Matt checked his phone. “Okay, but my friends are already on their way. Let’s go or Dad will beat us there.”

The hallway outside their dad’s office was crowded with fidgety nerds in suits and professors staring at their old-fashioned watches. Missy couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a watch that just told you the time.

“Jeez, this is kind of a sausage fest,” Chise said. She raised an eyebrow at Matt and Mitch. “No girls at your university, or do you two scare them off with your abundance of charm?”

The boys had the decency to look cowed; Missy stifled a laugh. Before they could try to defend themselves, the sea of suits parted. Mumbles dissolved into silence as their father stalked down the hall. “Right,” he said, looking over the assemblage. He spotted Monty at the same moment Missy did. Her brother stood by the door, straight but not stiff, smiling the business-like smile that the men in their family seemed to do so well. “Montgomery,” their father said, "we’ll bring your group in first.”

“Thank you, sir,” Monty said, and opened the door. Their father walked through to his office, out of sight. Monty’s people shuffled in after him. Without a glance at his siblings, Monty rounded the door and closed it soundly.

The hallway felt oddly deserted. Matt and Mitch’s teams hung around, splitting into smaller groups, but neither of them had recruited as many as Monty.

Chise leaned into Missy’s shoulder and whispered, “Do you think he’s still mad at me?”

No doubt. At least Monty hadn’t seemed to notice Chise yet; hopefully once he did, his sense of decorum would hold out. “We’re not going to worry about that,” Missy said. “He’ll be pissed at all of us once we kick his ass.”

Matt and Mitch leered at each other, wearing matching competitive grins. Missy tried to muster up their bloodlust, but mostly she wanted the meeting to be over. She had a girl to take to the ocean.

The office door opened, and Monty’s crew filed out. A youngish guy Missy recognized but couldn’t place tapped her on the arm as he passed. “You’re up.”

Missy squared her shoulders. It wasn’t so bad as the last two times, in a way. There were people waiting to back her up. But for the moment, she was going in alone.

She got through the door and pulled it not-quite-shut behind her quickly, without looking. The first thing she saw as she faced the room was Monty, loitering by their father’s desk, smirking. She should ask him to leave. But before she could open her mouth, she noticed her father’s face. He looked at her in a way she’d never seen from him before. She wouldn’t say it was loving, but expectant, invested… proud.

A fire lit in her gut, burning all the butterflies away. She was proud of her own damn self, and she was ready. Let Monty smirk. Her plan could crash and burn for all she cared, as long as they saw it for what it was. Brilliant. Worth more than a hundred of Monty’s store-bought friends and their framed Mensa membership cards.

Her father steepled his fingers. “Where is your team, Mississippi?”

“I had them wait in the hall,” she said, striding up to the desk. “First I want to explain the structure I have in mind, and introduce a few key players individually.”

He inclined his head. “Go on.”

She explained her four-headed hydra of a plan, the division of labor, the checks and balances. Her father listened; not a muscle in his face so much as twitched. At last, she got to the big moment.

“Each of the partners brings a specific focus to the table. I’ll have the Financial and Research heads come in.” She nudged the door open and waved. Mitch and Matt waltzed in, though Missy could see the sweat under their swagger.

Monty straightened, hands balled up at his sides. “What the hell is this?”

“Montgomery,” their father warned. Monty forced his posture to slump again and crossed his arms. But their father, for all his stoicism, did not look thrilled. “Though your brother spoke out of turn, it is a valid question.”

Missy let the boys take it. They explained how she recruited them, convinced them sharing the weight of leadership would give them all room to play to their strengths. They assured him that they each had their own teams ready to support them, jointly or otherwise.

“At first we figured Missy was getting the better end of the deal,” Mitch admitted. “She’d be the first to admit that she doesn’t have the resources to build a team like ours on her own. But the more ideas she shared, and the harder she worked to make this come together, the more I realized I wanted someone like her working with me. She’s practical and creative at the same time. She finds things worth doing and makes sure they get done.” He took a deep breath. “Honestly, sir, if you don’t let us do this her way, you’ll be putting the winner out. I know I'd be dying to hire her, and even if that wasn't against your rules, I’d probably have to plate her checks in gold to get her.”

Matty laughed and nodded. Their father remained implacable. He asked, stiffly, “And where is your fourth partner?”

“I’ll wave her in,” Matt said, heading for the door.

“She’ll be our head of Development,” Missy said. “I thought it was important to bring in some fresh blood.” She turned at the soft click of the door and smiled at Chise. She grinned back, the picture of easy confidence. “Let me introduce you. This is Chise Matsuko.”

“You bitch!” Monty flew across the room, barreling past Missy and her brother, and slammed into her. Matt and Mitch each grabbed an arm and hauled him back. Missy stumbled toward the pale heap on the floor.

“Oh my god,” she half-sobbed when Chise sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, her face streaming red.

“I’m fine! It’s just a bloody nose,” Chise said, her voice unusually thick. She ignored Monty’s curses and threats, hopped to her feet, and walked up to the desk. “May I?” she asked, pointing at a box of tissues. Missy’s father slid them toward her. She pressed a wad of them to her face, wincing only a very little bit. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Amal.”

He smiled at her; it was even a touch less icy than his usual businessman smile. “The pleasure is mine. Montgomery!”

His bark brought Monty’s tirade to an end, though his brothers still held him by either arm. “But sir, she’s the one who—“

“That’s enough.” Their father stood up. “You assaulted your sister’s business partner. In my office. During a meeting. The least you can do to mitigate this disgraceful display is hold your tongue.” Monty dropped his head and shook off his brothers’ grip. He left the room before their father could tell him to.

“Have a seat, Miss Matsuko,” their father said as he settled back in his chair. “Michigan, get some ice.”

Mitch darted out. Matt and Missy hovered around Chise’s chair, offering more tissues and dubious first aid advice. Chise waved them off. All her attention was pointed at their father. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

“It is I who must apologize on behalf of my son.” He leaned forward, hands braced on the edge of his desk. “So you are the programmer who almost brought down my entire network.”

Chise glanced down meekly, but her eyes were laughing. “I’m sorry for that, too. I never dreamed he would demonstrate it without testing it first.”

“Again, it is my son’s failings that demand apology.” He glanced at Missy, but she was too busy worrying about Chise to analyze his looks. “Tell me, are you also going to sing my daughter’s praises?”

Chise grinned around her bloody tissues. “Sir, I could write you an opera.”

***

Missy drove through the dark of early morning. She had the radio turned off; there was only the sounds of the car, and Chise breathing. Every once in a while, she would read something that made her laugh, and Missy would glance at her. Even eerily washed out in the dim tablet light, her smile glowed.

“What could possibly be funny about the Amal Technologies Ten Year Transition Protocol?” Missy asked.

“For starters, it’ll take me ten years just to read it.” Chise turned the tablet off. “Your father is a very thorough man.”

“One of his many admirable qualities, I’m sure.”

Chise leaned over the center console, resting her head against Missy’s arm. “Sorry for bringing work on our vacation. I don’t want to let y'all down.”

Missy snorted. “If anyone’s in danger of that, it isn’t you.”

“I am the unknown element.”

“Yeah, but this known element is known to be damn near useless.”

Chise’s fingers trilled along Missy’s arm. “That’s not so bad. After all, they didn’t expect you’d be any sort of competition, and what happened?”

“I got help from _you_ ,” Missy said, jostling her elbow.

“All of them had help. And you smoked ‘em.” Chise twisted her fingers into Missy’s now-freed curls. “You’re fantastic.”

“Four days ago you were literally a cat, and I’m fantastic?”

“Okay,” Chise said with a laugh. “So we’re both duly impressed with each other. All I know is, this is going to be an interesting ten years.”

“Hopefully not just because of my father lurking over our shoulders,” Missy muttered. The dashboard clock tip-toed toward four AM. Missy shifted from deserted lane to deserted lane toward her upcoming exit.

“I think we can find a little excitement on our own time, don’t you?” Chise’s hand migrated down, hooking in a belt loop on Missy’s jeans.

“I’m sure.” The off-ramp slanted down below; the ocean rose up, black and endless. From the corner of her eye, Missy watched the awe bubbling up, softening the edges of Chise’s smile.

“It’s been so long.”

She looked at the ocean like a lover. It was a cousin of the way she smiled at Missy, but sadness weighed it down. Missy squeezed her hand. “Let’s get you in that water, kitty.”

Chise laughed. She was out of the car before Missy could park, but for a good minute all she did was stare and breathe. Missy pulled the salt air deep into her, tossed her boots and jeans in the back of the car, and led Chise down to the shore. The sand turned cold and hard under their feet, then tried to suck them in. Chise stumbled and clutched Missy’s shoulder, her laughter carrying across the waves. White foam lapped around their ankles. It was no longer Missy leading. Chise dragged her forward, splashing up to her hips. She turned, smiling. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s warmer once you get in.”

“Well then.” Chise jumped on her, hooking her legs around Missy’s hips, knocking them both into the water.

Missy came up laughing, damp curls stuck all over her face. “Oh, you ass.”

Chise floated on her back, bobbing in the gentle surf. She reached out; Missy linked fingers with her. She walked, pulling Chise along. Her eyes were closed, her hair churning like a silver flame. “Missy,” she whispered, barely louder than the ocean. “I never want to go back to that house.”

“You don’t have to,” Missy said, cradling her head in the water. “You’re here now. You’re free.”

She opened her eyes, brown and deep and dewy from the salt. “And you won.”

“I did.” Missy bent and kissed her, and the salt on their lips was ocean, with not a trace of tears.


End file.
